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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455379">Something More than Fantasy (updated)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann7121/pseuds/Ann7121'>Ann7121</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blake's 7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-29 06:21:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455379</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann7121/pseuds/Ann7121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Can the dead walk?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Something More than Fantasy (updated)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many thanks to Nana Sally for the inspiration for this addendum to the original piece.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The boy put down his weapon to blow, somewhat futilely, on his fingers and then stuffed them under his armpits. He scanned the gathering dark, the knot of terror in his stomach freezing him as bitterly as the wind chilling his extremities. Debris caught in its swirling currents, shifted and rustled, and his breath hitched in his chest at the sound.</p><p>“Easy boy.” The old man with him sensed his fear and laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “Shadows. That’s all that’s out there.”</p><p>“They say it comes at midnight. Every night for the past three. Him and the pale lady.”</p><p>“Trying to frighten you, young-un. Soldiers’ tales, that’s all. Don’t put no store in them. Too much rot-gut and every bush becomes a monster.”</p><p>The boy made a choking sound, half way between a laugh and a sob, and sat down next to his companion. “I could do with some rot-gut. They say it keeps out the cold.” He crossed his arms over his stomach to still the tremors of fear.</p><p>“Don’t go down that route boy. Here. Try this.” The old man fumbled clumsily in his pocket and produced what looked in the dim light to be a small stick which he handed over. “Go on,” he encouraged, as the boy hesitated. “ Get your gnashers on it. Serval root. Tastes sweet.”</p><p>Cautiously the boy bit down and then smiled as the spicy taste flooded his mouth. “Nice,” he said. Then, after some concentrated chewing, “Ooh, hot.”</p><p>The dark shape beside him chuckled as the boy fanned his mouth. “Should have warned you,” he said gruffly. “Here, take a mouthful of this.”</p><p>His eyes streaming, the boy accepted the proffered canteen and gulped the water. He wiped his face. “You’re a bastard, Denny. You know that?”</p><p>The old man chuckled again. “Not so cold now though, are you? And mind your language when you’re talking to your elders.”</p><p>“Sorry. I am warmer. Thanks.” The youngster lay back against the wall of silo, glancing as he did so at the pale green dial of his watch. “Five minutes. Five minutes if it’s going to appear.”</p><p>“The ghost of Roj Blake? All wrapped up in a cloak so no one can see his face! And crying out he was murdered by his best friend when we all know it was that bitch Arlen who killed him? Pah!” The old man spat out bits of serval root to demonstrate his contempt at the idea. “Rumours... there’s always rumours in times of uncertainty. He’s a cold man, that Avon. Very cold. Bound to have enemies. But I don't reckon much for our chances without him.”</p><p>***<br/>Tarrant looked down on the sleeping figure. It looked almost peaceful, except for the restraints holding it firmly to the bed.</p><p>“I see you found a solution,” he remarked sardonically.</p><p>Soolin, pushed a stray wisp of hair back from her face. “I wasn’t prepared to spend my life rescuing him from the folly of his guilt trips,” she snapped brusquely. “And if it’s the only way to stop him walking in his sleep... Don’t worry,” she added with grim humour, “ you won’t have to tell him.”</p><p>“So who gets the pleasure of that?” Tarrant enquired, opening the door of the room with flamboyant gallantry.</p><p>“Vila... he owes me,” Soolin grinned as she passed through it.</p><p>The slight clang as the door closed on their shared laughter, caused the man to rouse from his drugged slumber. His eyelids fluttered and an expression, hard to decipher, crossed the blank face.</p><p>“ Stand still,” he muttered. “Stand still.”</p><p>****</p><p>“Restraint?” Avon’s face was blank but to Vila it screamed danger. He’d known how the news would be received; begged and pleaded that they kept it quiet.</p><p>
  <em>“Imagine the fall out if he found out and we’d kept it secret. We have to tell him.” Soolin was brisk and dismissive. “<strong>You</strong> have to tell him. You owe me Vila.”</em>
</p><p>He’d wondered, briefly, if saving his life had been worth it. Death was pretty final but at least it would have been peaceful. Unless there was something that came after death. Gan had thought there was. He’d found comfort in the belief. But then Gan had led a good life. Well, good if you discounted killing that guard. And Vila did. His own track record was a bit more suspect. Wasn’t there something about eternal fire and pointy sticks in those old myths?</p><p>“Vila.” Avon’s sharp tones brought him uncomfortably back to the present. “I’ve been sleep walking you say?”</p><p>“Yes.” <em>Keep it brief, Vila. Make him ask the questions.</em> Unobtrusively, he slid into a nearby chair and hunched over, making himself as unthreatening as possible. He darted a look at Avon and saw he was rhythmically passing one hand over the other. His ‘brushing the shit off it’ gesture, Vila privately designated it.</p><p>“And you restrained me?”</p><p>“Yes. Well not me, of course.” <em>Dangerous ground here. Take care.</em> “Soolin. Soolin decided it was the only way...”</p><p>“And <strong>you</strong> are telling me this because...?”</p><p>“Ah... She thought it was best coming from me. After all we go way back and...” <em>If you buy that you really have gone off your head.</em></p><p>“And you know you’re always safe with me.”</p><p>Vila winced and stared at his hands. The silence stretched unbearably. At last he gave in, looking up to meet Avon’s eyes.</p><p>“I hope, at least,” he muttered, allowing some of the sadness he felt to colour his tone.</p><p>
  <em>Nothing. The eyes that stared back at him showed nothing. Just a determination not to be the first to back down. Well, what had he expected? An apology? Avon had lost what little humanity he had on Terminal. Yet it was that refusal to back down that had kept... was keeping... them all alive.</em>
</p><p>With an inward sigh, Vila gave up and dropped his eyes again, waiting mutely for the tongue-lashing that would follow.</p><p>“You’ve done what you were told. Tell her I’ll take care of it. The restraints won’t be needed again.”</p><p>The delivery was matter of fact, almost robotic, free of the contempt that Vila had expected.</p><p>“Get out Vila.”</p><p>Hastily, he scrambled to his feet and made for the door. Something, some instinct, made him glance back but Avon was watching him go with that same empty expression, that inhuman control that made him such a terrifying companion.</p><p>And then, the briefest flicker. A momentary flash of something in those black eyes, and Vila found himself thinking about eternal fire and pointy sticks and wondering whether those old myths weren’t referring to the torment of living with regret rather than punishment for a misspent life.</p>
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